Wasn't that nice? "I hope she'll approve of me."
"I have no doubt about that. She is in great need of help with the household and farm chores."
He wasn't kidding, was he? Apparently Esme was supposed to be a cross between Martha Stewart and Brigitte Bardot: a whiz in the kitchen and a siren in the bedroom. Well, good luck with that!
Entering the settlement, she noted that Stein's home was similar to Egil's farmstead, just larger and better cared for.
It held half a dozen oblong houses with thatched or sod roofs, as well as several small log huts and storage sheds. Butchered animal carcasses and filleted fish hung from ropes stretched between the buildings. On higher ground, to the west, was the substantial communal hall with its high, steeply-pitched shingled roof. Vegetable gardens and pens for livestock were scattered here and there. Farther up the gentle slope, behind the hall, were small cultivated fields of different grains.
The most notable feature, however, was the farmstead’s location on the expansive Oslofjorden. Unlike the other fjords, where the mountains rose out of the water in slabs of sheer granite, here the land met the water with little drama. The rocky shoreline slipped gently under the lapping, icy water, creating the perfect landing for the three beached Viking longships with their carved dragonheads at the bow and stern.
The place was a beehive of activity. She estimated there were about sixty men, women, and older children going about their duties, while a couple dozen small children and half as many dogs played wherever they could.
“Wow. Who are all these people?”
“My kinfolk. The members of my clan.”
“Your clan?”
“Yes.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Our chieftain is Magnus Svenson. He is a powerful jarl, a lord, with eighteen more farm settlements like this under his dominion.”
Absorbing that comment, she looked around with fresh eyes. “I’m impressed.”
“He’s a wealthy and powerful man, who commands the allegiance of several hundred men and their families.”
“Are you all related?”
“Yes, except for the slaves.”
She ventured a guess. “Are you his son?”
“I am one of his bastard sons.” His grim expression and flat, emotionless voice made it clear there were issues between them. She bet it had something to do with the 'bastard' part.
“I see.”
“It’s a small community, with many wagging tongues. You will learn much about us after you settle in.” His demeanor was bland and his voice steady, but fierce emotion radiated off him like shockwaves. Was it anger?
“Stein! You’re back!” A tall, strikingly beautiful woman called out to him from the door of one of the longhouses. Esme guessed she might be in her mid-fifties. Her graying blond hair was gathered in a knot at the back of her neck, and she wore a long brown dress covered by a gray, strapped, apron-like overdress trimmed with brightly-colored woven braid. Small, oval bronze medallions were affixed to each of the straps and linked by several ropes of beads.
“Yes,” he shouted back to her, “and I have brought you a present.”
“Who is that?” Esme asked, feeling suddenly shy and unsure of herself.
“That’s my mother, Ulla,” he said with a smile in his voice.
His tone warmed her. If he loved his mother, he had to be a good guy, right?
The woman ran across the grass, her attention focused on her son. Stein dismounted and embraced her heartily, lifting her off her feet.
“It’s good to be home,” he murmured into her hair.
She pulled back and touched his cheek with her slim hand. “Yes, my son, I thank the gods you’ve returned.”
His brow gathered in concern. “Why? Did something happen while I was away? Is it Magnus?”
She pressed her hand to her chest and laughed lightly, but it sounded forced. “Oh, goodness, no. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I just feel safer when you’re here.”
Stein’s voice deepened. “Mother? There’s more, I can tell.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, nothing new. Just the same old row with Gudrun over the bracelet. She still resents the fact that Magnus gave it to me and not her, and she’s threatening to have him take it back.” She turned her attention to Esme, who still sat upon her horse. “Who is this?” Her gaze traveled over Esme from head to foot.
“This is Esme.” He walked over to her and put his big hands around her waist. “She is my new bed slave, but she’ll help you with the household chores and anything else you can think of.” He pulled her off the horse as easily as he might lift a child.
Esme threw him a stony glower, then smiled at Ulla, thrusting out her hand. “Hello. It's nice to meet you.”
Ulla ignored her and gave her son an inquiring look. “I thought you went to Túnsberg to see about Erik's new horse. I didn’t think you were after a new bed slave.”
“I didn’t think I was, either, but... I can’t explain it, Mother. Something drew me into the slave market. I saw her and...”
Ulla inspected her, her brow furrowing. She waved a hand at Esme. “These are strange garments. Why is she dressed like a man, and what is that thing on her face? Your taste in women has indeed changed if she is to your liking.”
Esme’s cheeks grew warm, but she kept her tongue in check.
“I hope you didn’t pay a lot of money for her,” his mother continued.
Stein gave her a tight smile. Her remark had hit a nerve. “She comes from a faraway land, where such clothing is the custom.”
His mother looked skeptical, but she gave Esme a half-smile anyway. “All right, then. Follow me, girl. I’ll see you have proper clothing as befits your station.”
Esme straightened her sweater. “Thank you all the same, but my clothing is just fine.”
“You will wear what is appropriate for a thrall,” Ulla said, her smile gone. She turned to Stein. “Does she always question your commands, my son?”
Stein snorted. “Yes, always.”
She addressed Esme. “Well, you had better do as I say, girl, or else.”
Esme bristled. “Or else, what?”
Ulla looked shocked, as if Esme had called her a name. "You will not speak to me again in such a manner." She looked up at her son, as if to prompt him.
The corner of Stein’s mouth lifted in a wry smile, and a wicked light danced in his eyes. “Or else I will have to punish you.”
“Oh,” said Esme, a flutter of desire heating her core. He was teasing her with the promise of more sexual shenanigans. Well, she’d take that kind of punishment any day. She stared at the lips and mouth that had taken her to the enchanted Land of the Big O. Oh, baby!
Stein looked away as he gathered the horses' reins. “Go with her, Esme, and behave yourself. Mother will take good care of you. I have business elsewhere.”
Anxiety suddenly gripped her like a talon. “Stein?”
He ignored her and continued leading the horses toward one of the small outbuildings some distance away.
“Stein?” How could he just leave her like that?
“Come with me.” His mother grabbed her firmly by the wrist. “There are some things we must do before you take up your duties.” She dragged Esme to the house with rapid strides.
“Why is he leaving? Will he be gone long?”
Ulla gave her a cross look. “My son has many other things to think about besides you.” She halted and dropped Esme’s hand. Her expression softened. “You like him, don’t you?” She grinned, her smile a familiar copy of her son’s. “Your first night together was good then?”
Esme chewed her lower lip and nodded. “Yes, it was fine.” She felt awkward discussing sex with her lover’s mother.
“Just fine?” Ulla raised an eyebrow. “My son is a wonderful lover. That’s what all the women say who’ve shared his bed.”
Esme’s heart stuttered. “Well, how nice for him.” Damn him! She was just another notch on his friggin’ bedpost
. Double damn him! Why did she care?
Ulla resumed her brisk walk to the longhouse. “Come.”
The strong smell of smoke greeted Esme as she entered the house. A fire was burning in a shallow pit dug into the ground. Although most of the smoke was drawn outside through a hole in the roof, a slight haze hung in the chilly air. She shivered and looked around, happy to see furs spread out over the floor as a kind of carpet. It must feel divine on bare feet, she mused. Or bare bottoms. Didn’t they use furs as bed covers too?
Ulla interrupted her reverie. “Sit there,” she ordered, indicating a stool next to the fire.
Esme gratefully sat down next to the only source of warmth in the house. How in the world did they survive the arctic winter with just one little fire?
Ulla lifted the lid on a low chest next to the wall and pulled out a shapeless, one-piece shift with a scooped neckline and sleeves that looked much too short. The gray, coarsely-woven wool fabric looked scratchy and was the ugliest dress Esme had ever seen.
Ulla held it out to her. “Take off those clothes and put this on.”
“I’d rather not, if you don't mind. It doesn’t look very comfortable.”
“This is not a request." Ulla shook the garment in Esme's face. "Put it on,” she repeated, emphasizing each word.
Esme really didn’t want to get into it with Stein’s mother. She bit back a rude retort and removed her sweater and jeans, placing them on the stool. Embarrassed to be naked in front of Stein’s mother, and feeling exposed and vulnerable, she seized the plain dress and quickly pulled it on over her head.
“Your body is beautiful. I see why Stein bought you.” She fluttered her hand at Esme. “Lift your skirt and show me your legs.”
Esme held her tongue and raised the dress to her knees.
“Why are your legs hairless? Is this the custom where you are from?”
“Yes.”
Ulla frowned. “Your armpits too, I see. But how is this done? You surely do not use a knife blade in such a delicate place.”
“Yes, we do, but it’s a special one that won’t knick the skin. We can also use a cream that dissolves the hair, leaving a smooth surface.” What was she doing? A commercial?
After a long pause, Ulla shook her head and stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Do all the women in your land do this?”
“Yes, pretty much.”
She tapped her lips with her forefinger. “I see how this could be highly stimulating to a man. You will tell me more about this cream. Perhaps I shall employ it as well.”
“Uh, sure.” Why had she said that? She had no idea what the ingredients were in Nair. Certainly nothing natural that could be found in medieval Norway.
Ulla pointed to Esme's glasses. “Tell me about this thing you wear.”
“They’re my glasses. My vision is flawed, and they help me see.”
"Most unusual." Ulla shook her head. “This land you are from sounds quite strange, but I see why Stein bought you. He needs a different kind of woman for his pleasure, and you’ll do for that.” Grabbing Esme’s arm, she felt her biceps. “What I want to know is can you work? Can you do anything useful besides spread your legs?”
Esme stifled a sarcastic comeback and jerked her arm free. “I can do many things besides...that.”
“What exactly?” Ulla grabbed Esme’s hand. “I need you to work in the fields, take care of the animals, and help me with the chores in the house.”
"Oh, is that all?" Esme dead-panned.
Ulla examined Esme’s palm. “There are many tasks which need to be accomplished every day.” She turned Esme’s hand over and frowned. “Your hands are soft. What sort of labor did you do before?”
Even though Esme was a Minnesotan, born and bred, she knew nothing about farm work. But there was one thing she could do and do very well. Her mood instantly brightened. “I’m a very good weaver. I can make rugs and wall hangings.”
Ulla grinned as if she’d been given a valuable gift. “Can you weave cloth, too?”
“Yes, I am fairly accomplished,” Esme lied. She’d never woven fabric for clothes, but she’d figure it out.
“Excellent! It is one of my least favorite chores. I would much rather be outside instead of sitting at the loom. Do you sew as well?”
“Yes. When I was younger, I used to make some of my own clothes.” Esme’s shoulders relaxed. This slave business might be better than she thought. “I’ll be happy to do all the weaving and sewing you want.” She splayed her hands, palm up. “I’m afraid I’d be pretty useless as a farmer.”
“Yes, I see you haven’t done much hard work in your life. But each of us has talents the others lack.” She spread her arms to encompass the room. “You will still be required to help with other household and farm chores. Your talent at the loom will not exempt you from that.”
Esme nodded, her enthusiasm somewhat dampened, yet still thrilled at the prospect of weaving once again.
“Then we’re agreed,” said Ulla. “During the day you will spin, weave and sew, among other things, and at night you will warm my son’s bed.”
If Esme was in fact dead, she’d apparently just ascended into Heaven. She’d be able to weave and sew, among other things, to her heart’s content. The fact that one of those other things was serving as Stein’s bed partner made it even more perfect.
It all seemed too good to be true.
CHAPTER 10
It was.
Ulla walked to the chest and pulled out a pair of crude iron shears.
Esme tensed. “What are you going to do with that?”
“Cut your hair, of course.”
Esme jumped to her feet. She knew from her father’s books that slaves had their hair shorn, but it didn’t lessen the impact of seeing Ulla brandishing her crude scissors.
“No.” Esme shook her head vehemently.
Ulla planted a hand on her hip. “Don’t be stupid, girl.” She spoke slowly, as if she were addressing a half-wit. “Since you are a slave, your hair must be shorn.”
“No, I won’t let you. It’s already short.”
Ulla leaned forward and pointed the shears at her. “Well, it’s not short enough.”
“No. Absolutely not. I won’t let you.”
If her too-fine hair was any shorter, it’d be impossible to style. She’d look like a wet dog, not a sexy bed partner. She wanted to be attractive for Stein, not look like she spent a week in a sauna.
"Sorry!" She bolted for the door.
“Come back here!” Ulla shouted.
Esme threw open the door, only to slam into the massive wall of Stein’s huge body.
“What’s going on here?” he boomed.
Trapped, Esme halted and backed up.
Ulla waved the shears about. “The girl won’t let me cut her hair.”
“I won’t let her do that to me.” Esme scanned the room frantically, looking for a way out, but there were no windows and only the one door.
Stein ducked under the doorframe. “It’s a symbol of your status.” He waved something in front of her. “Just like this iron collar.”
“WHAT?” No one was going to put a collar on her. “You can’t do this to me. I’m an American citizen. I’m not your slave.”
They moved toward her, Ulla frowning and her son scowling.
Esme tried to outmaneuver them. She knew about slave collars. It was a common practice among the Vikings, but she’d be damned if she’d let them wrap one around her neck.
“Stein, how can you do this to me?” After what they’d shared the night before, it seemed inconceivable that he’d treat her this way, like a real slave.
She flitted around the room like Tinker Bell on a caffeine high. Her freedom lasted all of two minutes as Stein easily captured her in his substantial arms, squeezing her like an anaconda until she quieted.
“I do not know what an ‘American citizen’ is, but it does not matter in the slightest. You will behave as befits your station,” he bellowed in her ear. “Now
be still.” He sat her down on the stool and held her there. “Mother, you may now cut her hair.”
"Please don't," Esme whimpered pathetically as Ulla grabbed her hair and hacked away like a mad butcher. There was no use in fighting any more. Stein and his mother would win this round. Esme's heart sank as she watched clumps of her hair drift to the floor like so many autumn leaves.
“There,” Ulla said triumphantly as she finished. “Now you begin to look like a slave.”
“Great,” Esme wailed. “That’s just great.” She ran her hands through the ruins of her hair, fingering the short, limp, uneven strands. She tried hard not to cry. Her only consolation was that it would grow back. Eventually.
Stein released his hold on her. “Get up,” he ordered. “It’s time to fit you with this.” He waved the collar in front of her.
“You’ve got to be joking.” She vaulted off the stool and glared at him. “I’m not a cow, Stein.”
“You will call me ‘master,’” he shouted, his face reddening. “And you will obey me.” He took a step toward her. "You’ll learn to behave like a slave, or else."
“Are you threatening me?” Esme countered, raising her voice to match his. “Why are you so bent out of shape anyway?”
His face was as fierce as a Kabuki mask as he struggled to keep his temper. “I will not allow you to control me. You are my slave, and you will obey me!” He raised his hand to slap her, but thought better of it.
Esme was appalled. How could he even think about hitting her? What kind of monster was he?
“My son, be careful. There’s no need to be rough with her,” Ulla interjected.
“You’re wrong, Mother. If I do not teach her discipline, she will become the master and I, the slave.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Esme snapped.
“Be quiet!” he bellowed. “You are a slave, and you will learn to act like one.” Grabbing her arm and waist, he lifted her off her feet and threw her over his shoulder like a roll of carpet. “I’ll bring her back when Olav is finished with her.”
“How dare you manhandle me this way,” Esme shouted, desperately trying to kick him where it would hurt the most.
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